I Can't Make You Say Goodbye
by Leia
Summary: [Complete] PostBuu. When tragedy occurs with Kuririn and 18's newborn son, Kuririn isolates himself in his own misery. Can his family pull through intact, or will misfortune have the last laugh? Unfortunately, only Kuririn can make that decision.
1. Hope

Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine. DB/Z/GT belongs to Toriyama-sensei, of course! Now if I can just convince him to adopt me . . . heh, heh . . . 

A/N: Hi, everyone! Remember me? Well, I've returned . . . and so have the angsty deathfics, as well. Fortunately, my hand seems to be okay as long as I don't push it too much. Anyway. The idea for this story came to me because two members of my family had miscarriages, and it was a traumatic time for all of us. Now, though, both families have healthy children, so that's a miracle. This is dedicated to my little cousins, their parents, and the two little brothers that they never knew. God bless you all. 

O yeah... This should be about 3 or 4 chapters long. If the chapters seem long to you, it's because I'm using the ff.n guideline of 20-30 KB for chapters. K? (And yes, it IS finished. You don't have to worry about me leaving you hanging without an ending.)   
  


I Can't Make You Say Goodbye

Chapter One: Hope 

The kitchen was filled with the sound of humming as Kuririn bustled happily around the room, whistling and singing to himself.  He was making breakfast for his family, and was in an insanely happy mood.  Bû had been destroyed, Goku had come back to life . . . nothing could be better.

He could hear the television in the other room, filling the downstairs with the sounds of a peppy female voice chanting, "And one . . . and two . . . and three . . . and four . . . six more, girls . . ."  

Kuririn laughed.  Kamesen'nin, Kuririn's former martial arts teacher, was watching his aerobics tapes again.  The aged master never actually did any of the actions — he just drooled over the girls on the t.v. screen.

Kuririn shook his head, grinning, as he set the table for breakfast.  He was setting down the bowls and plates when his three-year-old daughter, Marron, came into the room.  AMorning, Firefly," Kuririn greeted her cheerfully. "How's my little Sleeping Beauty?"

"Good," Marron replied sleepily, yawning and rubbing her eyes.  Dressed in a pink flannel nightgown with her blonde hair sticking up in wild disarray, Marron stood clutching the Piccolo doll Gohan had given her for her last birthday.  "Mommy's sick in the bathroom," she declared unexpectedly.

"What?!" Kuririn shouted, dropping the chopsticks he'd been holding.  The wooden utensils dropped to the floor with a clatter as he dashed upstairs, taking the steps four at a time.  Skidding to a halt in front of the washroom, Kuririn resisted the urge to blast through the door and settled for pounding on it with his fist instead.  "#18?  Are you all right?"

"Yes," came his wife's calm voice, but Kuririn could detect a shaky quality to her tone.  He heard a click, then the doorknob turned and the door was left slightly ajar.

Kuririn stepped into the washroom and saw #18 bent over the sink, holding her blonde hair back with one hand as she splashed cold water on her face.  Kuririn edged close to her and rested a hand on her shoulder, but #18 shrugged it off without thinking.  "What's the matter?" he asked her, his worry beginning to subside.  Though #18 appeared tired and shaken, he couldn't see anything wrong with her. 

#18 glanced down at him, and there was an odd light in her eyes that Kuririn thought he recognized, though he couldn't figure out why.  "Kuririn . . . I've been sick like this before, about nine months before Marron was born."

Kuririn blinked a few times, not understanding, and #18 reached down and took his hand, placing it gently on her stomach.  Kuririn's eyes bugged out as the connection was made in his brain, and when he looked up at her she just nodded.  A wide grin spread across Kuririn's face, and he picked #18 up and spun her around.

"Put me down, you idiot," #18 slapped the back of his head, a blow that would have sent him reeling had it been given in full force, but was instead directed with an affectionate lightness.

Kuririn obligingly set his wife back on her feet, and he walked out into the hallway. #18 followed him, Kuririn grinning so much he thought his head would burst.  Suddenly a thought struck him, and Kuririn stopped and spun around. #18 raised a questioning eyebrow, but Kuririn did not respond.  Instead he studied her face, searching #18's expression for any trace of the insecurity and fear that had accompanied her first pregnancy . . . but there was none. #18's eyes seemed to glow with happiness, and a sense of quiet pride.

As if reading his thoughts, #18 smiled softly, a smile that immediately laid all Kuririn's fears to rest.  "I'm not afraid this time," she assured him.  "In fact, I've never been _less_ so."

  


Joy welled up in Kuririn from the bottoms of his feet, all the way to the roots of his hair, and he levitated a few feet off the ground so that he was at eye level with her.  Impulse seized him then, and without thinking Kuririn kissed her, fully prepared to be punched through the wall. #18 rarely allowed him to kiss her unless they were alone in the house, or at the very least in the privacy of their own room, but right now Kuririn didn't care.

Apparently #18 didn't, either, for instead of pushing him away, she kissed him back.

"Aren't you supposed to go in your room when you do that?" a nasal voice asked dryly.

Kuririn winced and pulled away, glancing at Oolong, who stood looking up at them with his snout wrinkled in distaste.  Kuririn tried not to look at #18, for he knew what would happen next — within the next few seconds, an number of walls would acquire pig-shaped holes in them.

However, #18 surprised him.  She merely turned her head to look at Kuririn, and her eyes glittered with a mischievous light Kuririn had only seen a handful of times.  "I'm hungry," #18 declared, "Kuririn, why don't we have _bacon_ for breakfast?"

Oolong's eyes popped comically, and he let out a decidedly porcine squeal as he scurried into his own room, slamming the door behind him.  The lock clicked, though Kuririn thought with sadistic amusement that Oolong would be pork chops by now if #18 had actually wanted him for breakfast.

#18 laughed merrily, a sound Kuririn had not heard in a long time, and it lightened his heart.  "You're in a good mood," he observed, leading her downstairs.  "I've got breakfast ready.  No bacon, though, I'm sorry."

#18 ruffled his hair, still chuckling.  "I hope Marron takes it all right," she said, for the first time showing some apprehension.

"She should," Kuririn frowned.  "I bet she'd like another girl to play with."

"But what if it's a boy?"

". . . oh . . ." Kuririn thought for a minute, then shrugged.  "She likes playing with Goten and Trunks.  I think she'll be fine."

#18's eyes flickered, then she forced herself to smile.  "I hope you're right."

Kuririn took her hand.  "I know I am.  Marron's a good kid."

When the pair reached the kitchen, Marron was already eating.  She glanced up as her parents entered, and her inquisitive gaze ran over them, taking in their mood and expression with well-practiced ease.  A tiny grin touched her round face when she saw their joined hands.  "Mommy's happy," Marron declared with childish frankness.

"Yes, she is," #18 agreed, playing with Marron's sleep-tousled hair as she sat down.  "How are you?"

Marron smiled, and she held up the doll.  "I'm fine.  Mister Piccolo Doll says Mommy and Daddy have something to tell me."

#18 chuckled again, and she patted Mister Piccolo Doll on the head.  "He's very smart.  Actually, Marron-chan, Mommy is going to have a baby."

Marron's mouth dropped open, then she shot out of her chair and wrapped her mother in an enthusiastic hug.  "Wow!  That's great, Mommy!  I always wanted a sister!"

Kuririn and #18 exchanged worried glances, and Kuririn cleared his throat.  "Listen, little firefly . . . there's a chance that you could have a brother.  Is that okay?"

  


Marron shrugged nonchalantly as she returned to her seat.  "It won't be."

"Marron," #18 insisted, not liking the direction this conversation was taking.  "Just pretend for a second that the baby is a boy."

"Couldn't you put it back?" Marron asked matter-of-factly, reaching for her milk.

"Marron!" #18 reprimanded her sharply.

Marron looked at her, a pained expression on her face.  "I was kidding, Mommy."

"It wasn't funny.  A baby is a life, even if it's a tiny one."

Kuririn glanced at her, and he put his hand over hers, squeezing her fingers in a silent admonition to be quiet.  He never challenged her authority out loud in front of Marron, nor she his. #18 caught the subtle hint and shut her mouth, nodding slightly at Kuririn to acknowledge him.  "Sorry, Marron.  I shouldn't have yelled."

"Me, too, Mommy," Marron smiled apologetically, then thought for a minute and added, "Mister Piccolo Doll is sorry, too."

They all laughed, and the tension evaporated as though it had never been.

After breakfast, Kuririn looked at #18.  "Hey, do you think we could go tell everybody?  I mean, I know you didn't want to the first time, but I thought it might be different this time . . ."

#18 shook her head, smiling.  "Yes, that's fine, but as long as I'm there.  I'm not going to have you and the other men engaged in a male ego-fest," she waggled an eyebrow and elbowed Kuririn repeatedly in the side, in a humorous imitation of Yamucha.

Kuririn burst out laughing, and Marron chortled with glee, pointing.  "That was Uncle Yamucha!" she cried delightedly.  "That's really good, Mommy!"

#18 nodded her head in a small bow, then she and Kuririn got up and started clearing the table.  After the dishes were done, #18 took Marron upstairs to get her dressed and ready while Kuririn called Goku.  "Mommy?" Marron asked innocently as #18 combed the snarls out of her cornsilk-coloured hair.  

"Mm-hmm?"

"The baby is growing inside you, right?"

#18's danger sense flared.  After all her years of combat, #18 had developed a sort of uncanny knowledge of when something bad was going to happen.  Now, it warned her that Marron was about to ask an uncomfortable question.  "Yes . . ."

"How did it get there?"

#18 winced.  Well, it was inevitable that Marron would ask that question someday.  "Marron-chan, that's kind of a complicated answer, and I don't think you'd find it that interesting.  If you still want to know, ask Daddy later."

Marron didn't seem too satisfied with that answer, but soon became distracted by trying to help her mother tie the red ribbons on her pigtails. #18 breathed an inward sigh of relief as Marron's chatter switched topics.

  


Kuririn came bounding up the stairs then, grinning as he ran into the room.  "It's the two most beautiful girls on the planet," he greeted them, tweaking Marron's pigtails and winking at #18.  Marron beamed, and #18 rolled her eyes.  "Goku says to come on over," Kuririn announced, "I didn't tell him why, either."

"Is Goten-kun gonna' be home?" Marron wanted to know, eyes sparkling.

"Yes ma'am, little lady," Kuririn picked her up and set her on his shoulders as the family went downstairs.  "I bet he'll play tea party with you again, too."

#18 smiled at that.  While he would rather be out fighting, the youngest Son boy was not above playing tea party, or even dolls (though no one was supposed to know about _that_) with Marron. #18 liked Goten.  Trunks would play with Marron occasionally, but he was quicker to call her an annoying brat than Goten would be.  It was probably the genealogy.  

They flew to the Son house, Marron yelling with excitement.  Kuririn, making sure Marron was holding tightly to his neck, performed loops, dives, and spins that caused his daughter to nearly pass out from laughter. #18 was slightly uneasy, but she followed all Kuririn's acrobatic moves closely, and she trusted him.  She knew he loved Marron more than life itself.

Some time later, they all arrived at the Sons'.  Goten was waiting on the front lawn, and when Kuririn set Marron down, Goten came and took her by the hand, leading her inside.  Kuririn watched Marron skip away, and he had to chuckle.  "They're so cute," he observed.

#18 nodded, but didn't have time to say anything before Goku came barrelling out of the house and skidded to a stop in front of Kuririn.  "What do you have to tell me?" Goku demanded, sounding like a teenage girl who was curious about the latest gossip.  "Don't do this to me, Kuririn! ...Hi, #18...  What?"

Kuririn laughed heartily at his best friend's childlike curiosity.  "Well, Goku . . . I'll put it bluntly. #18 and I are going to have another kid."

Goku's eyes widened.  "Really?" he spun around to face #18.  "You mean you're — wow!" he cut himself off, then gave Kuririn a mischievous grin.  "Way to go, Kuririn," he winked.

Kuririn's lip twitched as he struggled valiantly not to laugh, painfully aware of the death glares his wife was sending him.  "Goku, knock it off," his voice sputtered with poorly-suppressed amusement.

Goku looked confused until he found himself the recipient of one of #18's dagger-pointed stares; then he yelped and looked nervously away.  "Don't do that," he complained, "ChiChi does that.  I can stand my _own_ wife giving me the evil eye, but not somebody else's!"

"What was that about me?" ChiChi came outside, drying her hands on a dish towel.  Her gaze ran over the scene, then stopped and came to rest on #18.  The dark-haired woman's eyes immediately lit up, and she stepped forward to clasp #18's hands enthusiastically in her own.  "Congratulations!" she exclaimed.

#18 looked at Kuririn, and he at her. "Did you — no, did you?" they asked simultaneously.

ChiChi just laughed, and she hooked her arm through #18's in a companionable manner.  "You have that light in your eyes, that's all.  Women know these things.  Come on inside and we'll talk."

The two women walked into the house, arm in arm, leaving their respective husbands still on the front lawn.  Goku shook his head, grinning.  "So what're you gonna' name him?"

"'Him'?" Kuririn chuckled, sitting down in the grass.  Goku joined him, lying on his back and staring at the sky.  "What makes you so sure it's gonna' be a boy?"

"I'm just hoping for your sake," Goku shrugged.  "You must feel outnumbered with two women in the house.  I know ChiChi always wanted a girl, because she said living with three men can get pretty hectic."

  


Kuririn grinned slyly, and he waggled a suggestive eyebrow. "So why don't you give her one?  Wouldn't be too hard."

Goku's face flushed a deep scarlet with embarrassment, an expression Kuririn hadn't seen in years.  "Aww, Kuririn, now who's making dumb comments?"

Kuririn couldn't suppress the laughter anymore, and he fell over on the grass, clutching his side.  "O man, Goku!  I haven't seen you blush so much since the day ChiChi kissed you at the Tenkaichi Budokai!"

Goku hid his face in his hands.  "I am _not_ blushing!" he retorted, then peeked through the spaces between his fingers.  ". . . am I?"

Kuririn's hysterical chuckles and tear-streaming eyes were his only reply.

******

The next few months seemed to pass by like a dream to Kuririn. As #18 drew closer to her due date, Kuririn was allowed to baby her a little — not much, of course, since she was so independent, but little things like bringing her breakfast in bed.

One day, approximately three months until the expected due date, Kuririn accosted #18 in the hallway.  "Hey, do you want to go out for supper tonight with Marron and me?"

"No," #18 placed a hand on her swollen stomach and made a face.  "I'm not going anywhere until this baby is born.  I look like a hippopotamus."

"No, you don't," Kuririn argued, looking at her affectionately.  "You look beautiful."

Marron giggled, and she tugged on #18's pant leg.  "Daddy, you always say that."

Kuririn tickled her playfully.  "Doesn't mean it isn't true, right?  Besides, you're going to grow up to look just like Mommy."

"We hope," #18 added, eyes twinkling.

Kuririn gave her a pained look, and #18 laughed and tousled his hair.  "Don't take things so seriously," she teased.

Marron considered it her duty as a "disinterested" third party to point out what her parents did not say aloud.  "That means Mommy thinks Daddy is cute," she beamed up at her parents, and had to stifle a laugh as she saw her mother's face.

Kuririn looked at #18, and to his amusement — and her chagrin — a faint rosy hue coloured #18's cheeks, spreading across her nose.  "Marron!" #18 hissed, but she couldn't muster up a very convincing scolding.  She could feel her face getting hot, and the triumphant grin on Kuririn's face was too much.  If she didn't love him, she would have smacked him through the wall by now.

Kuririn caught the expression (darn him!), and he had the audacity to put an arm around her waist, drawing close beside her.  "So, are you gonna' come?  Pleeeaaase?"

#18 flicked her eyes from the identical, pleading expressions on the faces of her husband and daughter, eyes shining, smiling happily.  "Fine," she sighed, "I'll come."

"Yay!" Marron clapped her hands.

"You won't regret coming," Kuririn assured her, "It'll be a night to remember."

  


#18 couldn't resist laughing this time.  "You exaggerate a lot, Kuririn," she shook her head at him, though a smile touched her features.  "I'll just go upstairs and change."

She disappeared up to the second floor, and once she was gone Marron leaned against her father's side.  "I love Mommy," she sighed happily.  Kuririn rested a hand on the top of her head.

Kuririn laughed softly in agreement.  "So do I, little firefly.  —'mon, princess, let's get the car started so Mommy doesn't have to wait."

Marron's small face fell into a pout.  "We're not gonna' fly?"

"I don't think Mommy wants to.  If she doesn't want to be seen in public, I doubt she'll want to fly over the city in a maternity outfit."

Marron giggled, though she covered her mouth and tried to stop.

Ten minutes later, the family was in their red air car, zipping across the ocean toward Satan City.  "I'm hungry," Marron wrinkled her nose in complaint.  "Are we there yet?"

"Look out the windshield," #18 told her gently.  "Do you see the restaurant?"

"No," Marron sighed gustily and stared moodily out the window for a few minutes, then she brightened.  "Mommy, can I feel the baby?"

#18 nodded, and she took Marron's tiny hand and placed it on her stomach.  "Feel it?"

Marron shook her head, but halfway through the motion she froze.  "I feel it!" she squealed.  "The baby kicked!  I felt it kick!" she turned to Kuririn excitedly.  "It kicked, Daddy!"

Kuririn glanced down at her, and #18 had to smile at the love for their daughter that shone in Kuririn's eyes.  "Concentrate on your driving, Kuririn," she scolded.

"Sorry," Kuririn turned his gaze back to the windshield.  They were coming to the outskirts of the city now, and Kuririn made sure he focussed on his surroundings.  With two passengers and one on the way, he couldn't afford to be distracted.

Out of nowhere, a car came careening around a corner, swerving wildly and driving at top speed.  Kuririn swore loudly and jerked the steering wheel, trying to get the vehicle into a position where it was less likely to be hit.

The opposing vehicle hit them broadside, sending Kuririn's car flying.  He grappled with the steering, but when he realized there was no way to avoid hitting the building in front of them, Kuririn stopped trying and trusted his instincts.  He ripped off his seatbelt and flung himself in front of Marron and #18, erecting a ki shield around all of them.

The car smashed into the wall, but fortunately Kuririn's shield was able to protect most of the vehicle, as well.  "ny fires that would have ignited were quickly put out by the exertion of Kuririn's energy, so all that happened was that the occupants of the automobile were jerked about violently.

At last the car stopped rocking, and Kuririn raised his head.  Marron looked frightened and #18 appeared shaken, but neither of them were hurt.  "What an idiotic driver," #18 growled, fists clenched and teeth grinding together with rage.  "If we had been normal humans, we would have been killed!"

Marron was crying, her small body trembling as she sobbed in fright.  "That was so scary!" #18 arms were held protectively around her, Marron's head on her stomach.

  


"It's all right," #18 soothed her, "Daddy is a good driver.  You're okay now," halfway through her reassurances, however, #18 let out a cry of pain.

Marron's head snapped up, and she put a hand on her mother's stomach, panic permeating her expression.  "Daddy!  The baby is kicking really bad!  What's happening?  Is the baby coming?"

"It can't be!" Kuririn protested, "It's not due for another three months!"

#18's pain-filled yell cut him off.  "It's coming!" she cried, voice tight as she tried to control the contractions.  "I remember when Marron came.  Get me out of here!"

Kuririn blasted open his door and scrambled outside, running around the back of the car, and he pulled the front passenger door right off its hinges.  Marron had followed him and was huddled next to him, clinging to his leg.  Kuririn reached inside the car and unbuckled #18's seatbelt.  Holding her carefully, Kuririn manoeuvered #18 out of the wreckage of their vehicle and continued to cradle her in his arms as Marron held tightly to his neck.

"Put me down, Kuririn," #18 gasped for breath, trying unsuccessfully to glare.  "I can fly to the hospital myself."

"#18," Kuririn shook his head as he took off into the air.  "Keep in mind that I say this to you with the greatest amount of love possible . . . shut up."

#18 sighed and closed her eyes, her face contorting as she struggled with the turmoil raging inside her body.  "Just fly quickly, will you?" she asked, and she reached up and placed her arms around his neck. Giving him one last, plaintive glance, #18's head rolled back on Kuririn's arm.

Marron, riding piggyback, let out a short scream.  "Mommy's dead!"

"Mommy isn't dead," Kuririn snapped, worry harshening his tone.  "She's just unconscious."

"Is Mommy and the baby gonna' be okay?" Marron whimpered, "I don't want them to die."

"Of course they are," Kuririn hastily shoved any thoughts of death to the far corner of his mind.  "They won't die," but his confidence crumbled as he regarded #18's still form, and tears sprang to his eyes.  "They can't . . . can't die . . ."

Some time later, Kuririn landed in front of an emergency medical ward, and he burst through the doors and flew down the hallway to the reception desk.  "My wife is in labour and she's three months early!  Get her a doctor, now!"

"Please," Marron added in a small voice.

Within minutes, a room was set up and #18 lay on a bed with a number of doctors and nurses in the room with her. #18 had woken up, and the pain in her eyes was so great that Kuririn almost cried in sympathy.  He sat beside the bed, letting #18 hold his hand, thinking idly that he would need a senzu bean or two to repair his broken fingers.

"I thought ... being absorbed by Cell ... was bad," #18 gritted after an hour.  Kuririn might have laughed had #18 not been perfectly serious.  "Even Marron was ... easier."

"It's okay," Kuririn patted her hand, not knowing what else to do.  "I know it hurts, babe.  Just let it all out."

#18 nodded, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.  Kuririn leaned over and kissed her forehead, resting his cheek on her forehead for a second before straightening back up.  "I hope the baby is all right," #18 whispered, her voice growing fainter with each word.

One of the doctors noticed, and he shook his head.  "Mrs. #18, you must keep trying.  This is a delicate time for you and your child — if you sleep, it is probable we will lose the baby."

  


#18 nodded tiredly, and Kuririn swallowed hard.  He caressed her forehead softly, moving her sweat-soaked hair off her face, trying to find a way to keep #18's mind off the pain.  "Hang in there, sweetheart," Kuririn winced as #18's fingers tightened over his, and he knew the hurt was worsening.  So, he did the only thing he could think of to do — he bent down and kissed her.

Marron watched as Daddy got off the chair and kissed Mommy, and out of habit Marron waited for Mommy to tell Daddy not to do that in public . . . but she didn't.  Instead, Mommy started to cry.  Daddy just smiled and told her it was okay to cry, then he sat there and petted her forehead.

Marron felt tears fill her eyes, and she wiped her face with the back of one hand.  Mommy had to be hurting real bad if she didn't yell at Daddy for kissing her with other people in the room.  The little girl sniffled miserably, and she observed the chaotic scene in front of her with a sort of detached horror, like she was watching a movie on T.V..   If only she could pick up some kind of giant remote and change the channel . . .

Alone and forgotten, Marron curled up in a corner, trying to make herself invisible.  Though she knew it was a bad habit, Marron stuck her thumb in her mouth.  She wished she hadn't left Mister Piccolo Doll at home . . .

******

"No!" #18's breath was coming in short gasps, and she shrank back from the doctors like they had proposed to kill her.  "I'm not letting you near me!"

"Mrs. #18, I'm sorry, but it's the only way to ensure that the baby is born," a doctor said matter-of-factly.  "A Caesarian is necessary!"

"_No_!" 

Kuririn looked at her with consternation and not a little panic as he regarded #18's face.  Fear was plainly written across her expression, with an intensity that Kuririn had never seen on her before.  "#18, what's the matter?"

She met his gaze, and her eyes were pleading desperately.  "Kuririn, don't let them touch me, please!"

Kuririn took her hand in his, and her fingers tightened so rapidly that Kuririn couldn't help but let out a gasp of pain.  "Why?  You have to let them do the surgery if you want to get through this!"

"You don't understand!" #18 lashed out her hand, catching Kuririn by the collar and yanking him down to her level.  "It's . . . Dr . . . Dr. Gero!" her breath was short, and for a second Kuririn thought he saw tears glimmering in her eyes.  Her face contorted, and it looked as though she was battling with inner demons.  "Dr. Gero, he did . . . he did this . . . same thing!  He said . . . it would be all right . . . but . . . he . . . cut me . . . his 'surgery' made me into the . . . into the monster I am . . .  I can't let them . . . touch me . . .  I _know_ they won't . . . hurt me . . . but . . ." her face spasmed, showed shame for a split second. "I'm afraid . . . The memories . . . they won't leave me . . . alone . . ."

"They won't hurt you," Kuririn touched the hand that still held his collar, closing his fingers over hers in reassurance.  "I won't let them," he smiled, and he put his other hand to the side of her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb gently.  "Do you believe me, hon?  No one will hurt you."

#18 scrunched her eyes tightly, then she leaned her cheek against Kuririn's palm.  "All right," she drew in her breath in a shuddering gasp.  "I trust you . . ."

"Everything will be fine, sweetheart.  Nothing will hurt you — _or_ the baby.  I give you my word," Kuririn nodded at the doctors, who breathed a collective sigh of relief.  "Okay.  Do it."

******

  


_Marron sat on the sand in front of her house, building a sand castle just high enough that the waves from the ocean couldn't touch it.  Beside her, sitting together on a towel with a beach umbrella over them, were Mama and Papa.  Mama let Papa put an arm around her, and they were both smiling and talking.  The sky was all red and orange and pink, because the sun was going down._

_Marron felt something tug her skirt, and she turned around to see her baby brother crawling up to her.  He had black hair like Papa, but blue eyes like Mama.  Marron smiled.  She loved her little brother._

_Just then, the baby started to whimper, a quiet, sick sound, like he wanted to cry but didn't have the energy.  Mama began crying, like she was hurting, then she fainted in Papa's lap.  Papa looked at the baby, who was lying in the sand, not moving, and he said, "We need to get the child on a respirator, now!" but it wasn't his voice._

Marron frowned.  She could hear a lot of people talking and yelling real loud, even though she couldn't see anyone.  Aside from that, someone was calling her name.  "Marron . . . Marron . . . wake up.  Marron!"

******

Well, there's chapter one. Will the baby survive? Stick around, I should update in a day or two.


	2. Heartache

Disclaimer: DB/Z/GT does not belong to me. I'm slowly buying up FUNi and TOEL stocks, though, so I can take over the market someday.... heh. (Do they even have stocks??) 

A/N: Hi, again. I'm glad ff.n decided to fix the upload/edit chapter function today!! I'd forgotten about that when I posted this yesterday. 

(A note for Shannon: I posted chap. 2 today, just for you. I wasn't seriously going to wait!) 

So, without further ado, chapter two. (That rhymed... ugh.) 

Chapter Two: Heartache 

With a gasp, Marron woke from her afternoon nap.  Her first instinct was to see where she was, and when she looked around, she realized she was sitting on Uncle Goku's lap.  Once he noticed she was awake, Uncle Goku's face softened and he smiled at her.  "The baby was born, Marron.  It's a little boy."

"I thought so," Marron murmured sleepily.  "Is he okay?" she glanced around the room, seeing all of Mama and Papa's friends, and she remembered that they had all come that morning.

Uncle Goku frowned.  "He's very tiny," he replied.  "The doctors don't know if he'll be all right or not.  He's in a special incubator right now."

Marron lower lip quivered.  "He's gotta' be okay," she sniffled, "Papa was so excited . . . he'll be so sad . . ."

"I know, Marron," Uncle Goku sighed, and he kissed the top of her head.  "I know . . ."

Both of them turned to look at Marron's mother's room, where she and Papa were listening to a very serious-faced doctor.

"I'm going to have to be straightforward with you," the doctor (Doctor Clark, his name tag read) said, his voice even and controlled.  He spoke with the air of one who had given bad news many times before, but was affected by it each time.  "Your son, as you know, is only twenty-four weeks old.  The survival rate for children that age is approximately ten percent."

Kuririn felt as though someone had jabbed a knife into his heart and was slowly twisting it.  He glanced down at #18, who lay gripping his hand tightly, and mustered up a wan smile.  "And if he lives?"

A muscle in the doctor's cheek twitched.  "Most likely the child will be severely brain damaged, and will probably be unable to speak, walk, or barely even move.  I'm sorry."

Kuririn's breath caught in his throat, making a sound that was very like a sob.  "He'll live," he declared fiercely, feeling #18's fingers tighten over his in support.  "I know he will.  He _has_ to."

Doctor Clark just looked at him, a mixture of sorrow and pity mingling on his features.  "The child is safely on life support now," he continued slowly, "And his condition is stable, but . . .  given his readings it is unlikely he will live more than a few days."

"Can I hold him?" Kuririn demanded, his heart aching within him.  If only he could hold his son, maybe the situation would not seem so bleak.

  


"I'm afraid not, sir.  The child's nerves are highly sensitive right now.  Any touch, caress, even a kiss, would cause him extreme discomfort, even pain.  I'm sure you understand."

Kuririn nodded numbly, and a tear slipped down his cheek.  "Can I see him, then?"  _At least let me see him,_ he thought desperately,_ I barely got a look at him before the doctors took him away._

This time, Dr. Clark nodded.  "Yes.  Just ask one of the nurses and he or she will direct you to the room.  Are there any more questions?"

Kuririn started to shake his head, then #18 tugged on his hand.  "What do you have him registered as?" she asked softly, voice weak from exhaustion.  

Dr. Clark blinked in confusion, then he consulted his clipboard.  "Uh, Patient one-zer —"

"His _name_," #18 interrupted firmly, "Is Kuri.  After his father," she looked at Kuririn.  "Go, go see him.  Maybe he'll know you're there."

"Are you going to be all right?" Kuririn inquired worriedly, gently running a hand across her forehead.

#18 smiled a little at the caress.  "I'm fine, just tired and sore.  Nothing new . . . now go."

Kuririn raised her hand and kissed the back of it, then stood up from his chair and followed Dr. Clark out of the room.  In the doorway, Kuririn stopped and looked back.  "I love you," he told her, "And I'm proud of you.  I know it hurt, but you did it."

#18 nodded and closed her eyes, smiling to herself as she heard him go.  Something told her that little Kuri would end up just fine — his father was the most stubbornly optimistic man on the planet.  If even a quarter of his spirit and determination had been handed down, Kuri would bounce right back — statistics, or no statistics.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" came a quiet voice from the bedside.

#18 opened her eyes to see Bulma had taken Kuririn's vacant chair.  The turquoise-haired woman smiled knowingly at her with the reassurance of a fellow mother. "I'm not sure," #18 replied, "I'm even more tired than when Marron was born."

"Believe me, I know the feeling," Bulma made a face.  "I told Vegeta that we aren't having any more children unless someone discovers a way to make it possible for _men_ to get pregnant," she helped raise #18 to a sitting position, patting the pillows behind her back as support. #18 noticed the quiet, apprehensive look on Bulma's face.

"You've heard the prognosis, I take it?" #18 asked, her voice sounding hollow in her own ears.

Bulma nodded.  "Yeah.  We were in the next room, and we heard the doctor.  Everyone's here for you," her face brightened as she tried to find something positive about the situation.  "Goku and ChiChi went with Kuririn, so Piccolo and Yamucha are with Marron.  Gohan and Videl had an exam they couldn't get out of, but they both sent their best wishes.  Kamesen'nin is in the cafeteria, ogling the nurses" — they both rolled their eyes at that — "Even Vegeta is around here somewhere."

"Where are the boys?" #18 looked through the door of her room and saw Yamucha giving Marron a piggyback ride, with Piccolo looking on.

Bulma's smile was more genuine this time.  "I'm not supposed to tell, but Goten conned Trunks into getting you a present.  They're at the gift shop right now.  Vegeta's probably with them, now that I think about it."

#18 managed a small laugh, but sobered up quickly.  "What do you think Kuri's chances are?"

  


The suddenness of the question startled Bulma, and she covered it up by commenting that the choice of "Kuri" as the baby's name was perfect.  Finally, she was able to respond.  "To be honest, I . . . I don't know, #18.  It doesn't look good, you know that," the older woman's face tightened with resolve, and she reached down and clasped #18's hand in hers in a firm, reassuring grip.  "But I don't care what the odds are.  We're all going to hope and pray — you and Kuririn are strong, so I'm sure your kid is, too.  He can pull through this — you all can.  Everybody is determined that the kid will live.  If no one gives up hope and Kuri keeps on fighting, I bet you'll be able to take him home before you know it."

"I hope you're right," #18 sighed, staring at her hands.  "If Kuri doesn't make it, I have no idea how Kuririn will react.  Ever since I discovered I was expecting, he . . . he's been walking on clouds the whole six months.  I hadn't seen him so happy since we found we were going to be parents the first time.  If I had to see that light, the spark of life in his eyes, die, I don't know what I would do," #18 focussed her gaze out the window, watching as a few birds flew by.  "People see Kuririn as a happy, carefree person, but what they don't realize is how hard he takes it when someone he loves dies.  If he loses Kuri . . ." but she couldn't complete the thought.  The reality was far too painful.

"He _won't_ lose Kuri," Bulma staunchly insisted, giving #18's hand another squeeze.  "You just have to think positive, that's all.  If you believe in him, he'll make it."

Bulma's words and confident tone stirred something in #18's heavy heart, and she gave her friend a heartfelt smile.  "Thank you, Bulma.  Thank you so much."

Any reply Bulma planned to make was cut off by a pair of boys entering the room, laden with balloons, flowers, stuffed animals, and boxes of chocolates.  "Here's some presents for you," Goten chirruped, as he and Trunks set down their wares on every available area of open space.  "We thought it would make you feel better."

#18 gazed at the myriad balloons that, now unattached, drifted to the ceiling, and at the bouquets and toys which festooned every corner of the room.  "Thank you," she smiled, then noticed that both boys had chocolate smeared around their mouths.

Goten caught where #18 was looking, and he laughed sheepishly.  "Well, we didn't think you'd eat _all_ the candy . . . and we only took one box."

Trunks cuffed him on the back of the head. "It was Goten's idea to eat them," he volunteered.

"Hey!" Goten punched Trunks' arm. "Was not!"

"Was, too!"

"Was not!"

Within seconds, the two youngsters became involved in a playful tussle, but Bulma quickly separated them.  "Boys!" she scolded, then drew them aside and spoke to them in soft, but firm tones.  Both shot startled or sad looks at #18, and she felt a lump rise up in her throat again.

Finally the two of them shuffled forward, scuffing the toes of their boots on the clean, yellow, linoleum floor. "Sorry, #18-san," Goten apologized, "I didn't know the baby was sick."

Trunks smacked him.  "Shut up!" he hissed, "Are you stupid?  Don't make it worse.  Just give it to her."

"O, yeah," Goten whispered back, then he waded into the sea of knee-deep stuffed animals until he found a specific teddy bear.  It had golden-brown fur and black eyes, with a red bow around its neck.  "This is for you," Goten handed the teddy bear to #18.  "Well, they're all for you, but this is for your baby.  Maybe if he has a teddy bear to sleep with, he'll wanna' get strong."

  


#18 took the proffered toy, and was surprised to see her hands were shaking.  "Thank you, Goten and Trunks.  You two are very thoughtful."

Goten, and even Trunks, beamed under the praise.  "Can we take it to the baby now?"

"Yes, you may.  Ask the nurse where the room is," she handed the toy back.

Both boys shot her a grin, then nearly fell over each other as they scrambled out the door. #18 watched them go, smiling. "I hope Kuri makes it, so he can be friends with them."

"O, Dende-sama forbid that!" Bulma threw up her hands.  "My foul-mouthed son infecting the mind of your innocent little boy?  They're teach him to fight, too.  Ugh," she made an exasperated face.  "Two fighting boys are enough, honestly!"

#18 laughed.  "With Marron's tea-party influence?  I think he'll be okay."

Bulma patted #18's hand, and she stood.  "You need rest.  Your son will be fine, I promise you, but you've just had a baby and you need sleep."

#18 set her head down on the pillow and smiled faintly.  "Look after Kuririn until I'm up, please?"

"Sure," Bulma nodded, "But you don't have anything to worry about.  Kuririn will be fine, because Kuri will be fine.  Now sleep."

#18 flipped a salute, then closed her eyes and fell into a much-needed slumber.

******

"Mrs. #18?"

#18 opened her eyes slowly, staring up into the face of a concerned-looking doctor.  "Mmm?" she shook her head to clear her thoughts.  "Is everything all right?"

The doctor smiled.  "Well, the good news is, your son survived the night."

"I knew he would!" #18 felt a great weight lift from her shoulders, then she noticed the seriousness in the woman's eyes and the feeling of foreboding settled over her once more.  "What's the bad news?"

There was a long pause before the doctor spoke, and the silence hung heavily over them like a wet blanket.  "The child's vital organs were operating by themselves last night," she explained, "With the assistance of life support, yes, but still functioning.  But at approximately 8:13 this morning, they stopped.  The machines are doing all the work.  We don't want to have to assume the worst, but . . ."

#18 frowned at him, not realizing fully what he meant for a second.  At last, the words '_vital organs have stopped working_' made themselves clear.  In horror, #18 recoiled away from the medic.

"No!" she burst forth, hearing her voice break.  "You mean he's . . . he's only alive because the machines are keeping him from dying?"

"Well, that's a . . . a very blunt way of putting it," the doctor hesitated, then continued.  "I recommend we wait a few days, but after that, if the machines are still doing all the work, then I would suggest turning them off.  Otherwise, your child would be forced to live in hospital, on life support, for his entire life.  He wouldn't be able to hear you, talk to you, or even know who you are or  if you were there.  I'm sorry."

  


#18 felt as though someone had somehow reached inside her soul and pulled out every hope and dream, then torn them to pieces, little by little, right in front of her.  Her first coherent thought, however, was of how hard this would hit Kuririn. "Has anyone told my husband yet?"

The doctor nodded.  "He hasn't left the incubator since he first went there, so I'm afraid he was aware of everything at the same time we were."

"How is he taking it?" #18 swallowed hard, feeling a hand squeezing each drop of blood from her heart. 

"Not well."

"I have to see him," #18 declared, struggling to rise. "He needs someone to stay with him."

"Perhaps, but you still need to rest," the doctor informed her.  "You're not strong enough yet."

#18 scowled blackly at her.  "But my son —"

The doctor held up a hand.  "A few more days, then you can see them," without waiting for a response, she left.

As soon as the woman's back disappeared through the door, #18 flipped back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.  "I don't care what the doctor says," she snarled, "I _will_ see my son, and I _will_ see him today," her body, on the other hand, thought otherwise.  Once her feet were planted on the floor, #18's knees gave out and she collapsed.

"This is stupid," #18 placed her hands on the ground and attempted to push herself to a seated position.  "I'm a fighter, but I get knocked down for two days after having a baby?"

A pair of gold-tipped boots came into view of #18's downcast eyes, and a rough hand grasped her arm, hauling her to her feet. "Let go," #18 snarled.  Obligingly, Vegeta opened his hand, and #18 dropped to the floor again.  She glared as Vegeta bent down, picked her up by the arms, and all but dropped her on the bed.

"Stay there," he ordered, then walked back to the door and stood there, leaning against the frame and watching her.

"What, did Bulma assign you to be my bodyguard?" #18 sneered, sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching the blankets in her fists to help keep her balance.

"Maybe."

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Like what?"

#18 sighed and decided to ignore him, staring instead at the ceiling and thinking of her brief glimpse of her son. Kuri had only been about twelve inches long, and couldn't have weighed much more than a pound.  His tiny arms and legs had been thin and delicate, the fingers and toes even more so — even his facial features were minuscule.  She didn't even know whether or not he possessed a nose.  

But he was beautiful anyway.

#18 felt her eyes begin to sting, and she swiped at them before the tears had a chance to fall, angry that Vegeta had seen her in a moment of weakness.  When she looked up, however, she saw that the Saiyajin was not sneering or smirking at her, but merely regarding her seriously. #18 swallowed hard.

"Vegeta, take me to them."

Vegeta cocked an eyebrow, amusement beginning to tinge his features.  "Excuse me?"

  


"Blast it, it's not funny!" #18 felt horrible having to plead in front of Vegeta, and even worse to have to plead _to_ him, but she had no choice.  "I don't like asking help any more than you do, and _especially_ not from you!" her lip curled in a ferocious snarl.  "I'm not abasing myself — if you won't help me, I'll go there myself.'

"You can't even stand."

#18's body shook with rage, and she pushed herself to a standing position.  "Listen to me!  Pretend for one second that it's your son out there who's dying — who's technically dead, but the life support systems are keeping his heart beating and lungs moving," Vegeta jumped at that, and #18 realized no one else had been told.  "Just think, please!  I know people say you're heartless, but I know Bulma well enough to see that she wouldn't love you if you were.  Drop the act for _one minute_, will you?"

Vegeta stared at her for a long second, then his face twitched and he strode across the room to #18's side.  He grasped her elbows, one arm around behind her back, and without speaking, Vegeta led #18 through the hallways to Kuri's room.

Kuri was in an incubator, attached to myriad life-support mechanisms, inside a private ward. #18 looked through a large, glass window at the room, where Kuririn sat on a chair beside the small box, in which his baby lay.  A faint smile found its way to #18's lips when she saw the teddy bear from Goten and Trunks was sitting inside the glass case.

Kuririn was bent over the incubator, his arms resting on the top and his head buried in his arms. Even from a distance, #18 could see his shoulders shaking violently, trembling as though at the mercy of a violent gale, and she knew he was sobbing.  "I should go to him," she whispered.

"I don't think he wants to see anyone right now," Vegeta disagreed, his tone devoid of its characteristic scorn for once.  "Not even you."

#18 sighed quietly, realizing that the Saiyajin was correct.  Right now, Kuririn needed to be alone with his grief — #18 understood the feeling perfectly.  She rested her fingertips on the cool glass for a moment, letting the scene impact itself on her memory.  She knew, somehow, that she would remember this forever; her day-old son, tiny and vulnerable, surrounded by tubes and wires and computers . . . Kuririn, slumped over the incubator with his head in his arms, crying quietly, hopelessly . . . and the teddy bear, perched inside the incubator, smiling, radiating the hope that no one had the heart to feel.  Whatever the outcome, #18 knew she would never forget the scene.

"All right," she told Vegeta, "Take me back."

******

Tears dripped slowly down Kuririn's cheeks, like rain running down a windowpane, soaking his arm where his face was resting on it. All around him were computer monitors, each bleeping as the kept track of the mechanically-induced heartbeat and other vital signs.  To Kuririn, the computerized beeping noises played a kind of funeral march, hammering inside his brain until he thought he couldn't take it anymore.

Beneath him, lying on his side, was Kuri — the most beautiful, innocent little boy Kuririn had ever seen.  He was so tiny . . . short as he was, Kuririn still bet he could hold Kuri in the crook of one arm — if, of course, he had been allowed to hold him.  The child wasn't old enough to have much hair, but here and there were patches of black fuzz.  Kuri hadn't opened his eyes since about three in the morning, but when he had, Kuririn had seen them to be a beautiful, crystal-blue — just like his mother's.  Like Kuririn, however, he had no nose.

Kuririn watched his son's small chest rise and fall in mechanized breathing, imagining what it would be like to hold him in his arms, to feel the tiny fingers close over his own.  To sing the boy to sleep at night, to rock him and feed him . . . to watch him grow up, and to laugh and cry at his successes and failures . . .

  


Kuririn drew in a deep, shuddering breath as he struggled to control his emotions.  How could anything so small, so fragile, so . . . perfect . . . belong to him?  He knew he should be filled with joy and gratitude, but everything had gone so terribly wrong.

"You can't leave me," Kuririn whispered, helplessly.  "You can't just go . . . hang in there, Kuri-chan.  Daddy's here, and he's never gonna' leave you.  Never!"

******

"Kuririn . . . are you all right?"

Kuririn felt a cool hand touch his cheek, then ruffle his hair in the familiar gesture of affection.  Startled awake, Kuririn sat bolt upright, blinking sleep from his eyes, and saw #18 standing next to him.  She looked tired, but, as the small part of Kuririn's mind not paralyzed by grief noticed, as beautiful as always.  Kuririn managed to smile at her, and he reached out and took her hand in his.

"How are you feeling?" Kuririn asked.

"I'm fine now," #18 smiled reassuringly, "This is the first time they've let me out of my room.  How is Kuri?"

Kuririn looked again at his son, noticing had not once changed position — not even a finger or toe had moved in the five days since the little boy's birth.  "The same," he replied dully, feeling the good mood that had come with seeing #18, begin to fade.

"Can I see him?" piped up a little voice.

Kuririn glanced down in surprise and saw Marron standing on the other side of #18, holding her free hand.  "Sure, Firefly, you can see him.  But he's sleeping, so it probably won't be very interesting."

"I don't care," Marron tugged on Kuririn's pants.  "Pick me up!"

Kuririn bent down and picked her up, holding her around the waist, and he lifted her up so she could peer into the incubator.  "Wow . . . he's so small!" Marron breathed, almost reverently.  "He's like Mister Piccolo Doll!"

"Yeah, he is," Kuririn agreed.  _In more ways than one,_ he thought sadly.

"Was I that little when I was born?" Marron inquired.

#18 shook her head.  "No, you were bigger than that."

"He's cute," Marron observed, smiling.  "He's just like I thought he would be.  I bet he'll play tea party with me when he's bigger."

"What about me?" Goten pouted, coming up behind them.  He and his parents had left the night before and just now come back.

Marron giggled.  "We can all play," she declared generously, "I'll be the Mommy, you can be the Daddy, and Kuri can be our baby."

Goten thought for a minute, then decided he liked that arrangement.  "Okay."

Kuririn suddenly shivered, and he had to set Marron down in case he dropped her. Goku must have noticed, for he put a comforting hand on Kuririn's shoulder, giving him a squeeze.  "Any change?"

"No," Kuririn shook his head.  "I don't know what else we can do.  The doctors have tried everything . . ."

  


Goku gripped his shoulder firmly.  "Kuririn, I know you don't want to hear this, but maybe the only thing left to do is —"

"_NO_!!" Kuririn shouted, so loudly that Goten and Marron, who had been playing on the floor, looked up in fright.  Kuririn quickly lowered his voice.  "What kind of father stands there and lets his own son die?"

"Kuririn . . ."

Kuririn, Goku, and ChiChi turned to look at #18.  Her blue eyes were shimmering with tears, and the Sons were startled — they had never seen her cry before.  "Kuri doesn't even know he's alive.  In all honesty, he _isn't_ alive.  A corpse could be hooked up to machines like this and made to look like it's breathing, and that's what's happening here.  Please, Kuririn, we don't even know if he's feeling pain.  If he is, it isn't fair to make him suffer."

#18's hand went to her cheek, to wipe the tears away.  "I don't want to lose him, but we can't keep him alive just because we're too selfish to let him go."

"Selfish?" Kuririn yelled, pulling away from everyone.  "Is it selfish to love my son?  Is it selfish for a father to want to give his child every chance he has at life?  I don't think so!  I can't believe that _you_, of all people, would be willing to give up on him so easily."

#18's face fell at that last remark, and Kuririn knew he'd hurt her — but she held firm.  "Giving up and letting go are not the same thing," #18 argued.  "If you love someone, sometimes the best thing you can do for him is to let go."

Kuririn's expression was stony and his voice low with betrayal.  "I don't believe you.  I don't believe any of you.  How can you ask me to kill . . . to kill my . . ." but he was overcome with emotion and had to turn away, hiding his face in his hands.

It was then that a doctor came up to them, and the look on his face was so solemn that everyone in the group knew what he was going to say.  "Excuse me, may I have a word with the parents?"

Goku and ChiChi glanced at each other, then nodded and stepped back.  Goten and Marron continued playing — Goten was on his hands and knees, "galloping" around the room while Marron sat on his back and giggled happily.  Kuririn took a deep breath, and he looked the guard directly in the eye.  "The answer is no," he declared simply, "I'm not going to let you kill him."

"If there was even the slightest chance, I wouldn't be asking this question," the doctor reminded hin gently.  "I'm very sorry, but it's been almost a week now, and the life monitors haven't even peaked once."

"But isn't there _any_ chance he'll start living for himself again?" Kuririn pleaded desperately, feeling his hope slipping away like grains of sand in an hourglass.

The man's eyes held infinite sadness as he gazed at the once-happy family.  "You could keep him hooked up for years, waiting for something that would never happen, and you'd end up killing yourself emotionally.  However, if you release him now, he will move on to a better place and you could begin healing."

A loud sound filled Kuririn's ears, like wind rushing through a long tunnel, and the only thing that kept him connected to reality was the feel of #18's hands on his shoulders.  He half-turned and glanced up at her, and her eyes were glistening.  #18 closed her eyes, and when she did, the tears spilled over, cascading down her cheeks like a dam had burst inside her.  As for Kuririn, he was not crying, but he did not know why.  For once, his emotions seemed to have hit upon a wall. 

#18 nodded, just once.

  


Kuririn amassed his courage and he faced the doctor.  "All right," he had been prepared for his voice to tremble and break, but it sounded calm and collected.  It felt like he was somebody else trapped in this person's body, forced to watch and listen while the person spoke.  "We agree to . . . to . . ." Kuririn let the sentence dangle, unwilling to finish it.  It was so . . . so _final_!

Across the room, Marron toppled off Goten's back as she realized what her parents had just agreed upon.  "No!" she cried, ADaddy, don't!"

She started to run, but Goten caught her arm.  "Marron . . . they're gonna let the baby go home," the boy was crying, too.  "He won't hurt anymore."

Marron let out a sob, then she collapsed into Goten's lap and cried.  The boy wrapped her shaking form in his small arms, resting his head on her back, and the two children wept together.

ChiChi pressed her face into Goku's chest as the doctors surrounded the incubator, and Goku enfolded her in an embrace that brought neither of them much comfort.  "The poor little thing," ChiChi whimpered.

"There was nothing else to do," Goku sighed, his voice thick with remorse, "The kid won't feel a thing."

"Let us hold him," Kuririn spoke up suddenly, unable to tear his gaze away as the various life support equipment was removed from his son's frail body. #18 stood close to him, holding his hand, and her fingers were wet from a futile effort to dry her eyes.  "Just this once, before he goes."

The last tube was disconnected, and the infant was lifted gently into the arms of his parents.  The tiny chest fell one final time, expelling the last breath of air the respirator had given him, then he was still.  What little life energy he had possessed disappeared forever.

#18 let out a small gasp, trying not to cry.  Kuririn just stood there, holding the doll-like body, eyes dry.  "I love you, Kuri-chan," Kuririn said softly, "I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to help you."

No one spoke after that, and the only sounds were those of everyone crying.

******

Poor Kuri-chan! I got rather emotional when I was writing this, which is not unusual for me, but what is odd is that I actually considered letting him live at first. My sister can attest to the fact that I sat there for about half an hour with the pen poised over the paper, wondering whether or not to turn off life support. I hope you don't all hate me for my decision. (Kuririn does. He won't speak to me.) 

So there you have it. How will Kuririn & co. deal with such a loss? And what about the Dragonballs? Couldn't they be used to revive Kuri? If ff.n cooperates, chapter 3 should be up soon.


	3. Separation

Disclaimer: DB/Z/GT do not belong to me. If, by some miracle they did, there would certainly be a lot more Kuririn and #18 in there!!! 

A/N: I've given up on Author's Notes in the reviews. BAH! Stupid thing tells me that it didn't work, so I did it again, so now I have two identical (LONG) sets of a/n in the reviews... and the 'remove review' option isn't there. Ahh, this is dumb. 

Anyway. Chapter three, filled with angst, denial, and the slow disintegration of a formerly close-knit family . . . .   
  


Chapter Three: Separation 

"_Dende_!"

The pain-filled voice tore through the empty space at Kami's Lookout, causing its occupants to sit up and stare.  Popo-san, who had been tending his flowerbed, frowned in consternation.  "O, my," he murmured, getting to his feet and running to the edge of the Lookout, where he could see a small figure standing.

Dende, the Guardian of Earth, came running to join him, his robes flapping out behind him like the wings of some giant, ethereal bat.  "Kuririn-san!" the Nameksejin cried worriedly, "What's the matter?"

Kuririn stood in front of them, looking as anguished as Dende had ever seen him.  His hair was mussed and his clothes rumpled, and he was in need of a shave.  Dende took all this in with one quick sweep of his eyes, but his gaze came to rest on the tiny, blanket-wrapped bundle Kuririn was clutching to himself protectively.  His eyes widened, as he remembered Kuririn's joyous proclamation six months prior.

"The baby?" Dende gasped.

Kuririn nodded shortly, his jaw set with pain.  "He's dead," he declared, voice cracking.  "There was an accident, and he was born prematurely.  The doctors couldn't do anything for him, and we had to let him go.  I want the Dragonballs."

  


Dende had never heard Kuririn speak in such harsh tones before, and it scared him.  He knew his friend must be experiencing a tremendous amount of pain, but it was still odd.  Kuririn was normally so happy . . .  "Kuririn-san . . ."

The former monk frowned.  "What?  What's the matter?  Can't I use the Dragonballs?"

Dende folded his small hands in front of himself, and his eyes began to fill with tears.  "Kuririn-san, I'm sorry . . . I can't do that.  I'm not strong enough."

Those little words, as few as they were, tore through Kuririn, burning his heart as though he had been stabbed with a firebrand.  Any last hopes he might have entertained were torn from him and tossed to the wind, like pieces of ragged fabric.  "Wh.. Why?" he asked, his voice coming out as little more than a whisper.

"The Dragonballs can't be used to revive anyone who died of natural causes," Dende sniffled, wiping his eyes with a corner of his cape.  "It's too complicated that way.  If someone died in battle, that's different — there was a wrong to be made right, or a bravery to be rewarded, or . . . or something.   This . . . this is something different.  This was Nature, and I can't go against that.  I'm _sorry_, Kuririn-san!" he added defensively as he saw the betrayal rise in his friend's eyes.  "I didn't make them that way on purpose!"

"Shenron can't help me," Kuririn stated dully, disbelievingly.

Dende shook his head slowly.  "He can't do anything I can't do.  I'm so sorry," he moved a hand to touch the small form nestled in Kuririn's arms, but Kuririn pulled away.

"Don't touch him," he snapped, "You might hurt him."

Dende gasped.  "But . . . I thought . . ."

"_You don't know anything_!" Kuririn screamed at him, and he backpedalled a few feet before leaping into the air and flying off back to Earth.  

Dende collapsed to his knees, sobbing hysterically, wishing with all his strength that he had enough power, just this once, to resurrect one tiny life.  "It's not fair," he cried, beating the marble tiles with his fists.  "It's not _fair_!  Kuririn-san never did anything wrong . . . what did he and #18-san do to deserve this?"

"Nothing is fair," came a deep voice from behind him.  "You'll understand that someday."

The pint-sized Guardian whirled around to see Piccolo, his _sensei_, standing behind him, apparently unaffected.  But knowing Piccolo as he did, Dende saw the pain and sympathy that flashed in his friend's eyes.  "It ... was ... just ... a ... baby ..." he cried gaspingly, his body shaking from the force of his weeping, and he launched himself at Piccolo, burying his face in the older Nameksejin's pant leg.

"Make it better, Piccolo-san," Dende's small form trembled as he wept, fingers digging into Piccolo's leg. "Please . . ."

One corner of Piccolo's mouth tugged downward, the only outward indication of his sorrow besides his eyes.  "I'm sorry, Dende.  I can't," he curled one hand around the back of Dende's head protectively, letting him cry.  

The warrior stared out at the clouds, where Kuririn had disappeared.  _Kuririn_ . . . he thought sadly, _May your son's spirit rest in peace.  May you know how deeply sorry we all are . . .  _

******

"Daddy, Mommy wants you to come inside," Marron said timidly, coming up beside her father.  He was kneeling in the grass behind Kame House, in front of a white slab of stone.  Kuririn sat holding a bouquet of flowers, which he was in the process of laying in front of the grave.

  


"Tell Mommy I'm not hungry," Kuririn replied tersely, running his fingers over the gravestone.

Marron frowned in confusion. "But Mommy said —"

"I don't care!"  Kuririn thundered, and Marron recoiled in fear, her round face crumpling.  "Mommy can deal with me staying out for one night.  Now get inside!"

Marron burst into tears and ran into the house, calling, "_Mommyyyy_!!" in a distraught voice.

As soon as she had gone, Kuririn collapsed, falling forward, resting his forehead on the ground and digging his fingers into the soil of the fresh grave.  Kuri had been buried that afternoon, after a funeral that involved Kuririn's family and friends.  Kuririn hadn't wanted anyone to come, but #18 had been quietly insistent, and Kuririn wasn't so buried in his own sorrow that he would ignore her wishes completely.

The teddy bear from Goten and Trunks had been buried with him, along with the blanket that ChiChi had made for him prior to his birth, and a couple other things. #18 had inquired as to why Kuririn didn't want to keep them himself as mementos, but Kuririn had snapped at her, asking if she wanted Kuri to be cold and lonely down there.  Her face had paled and gotten an alarmed look across it, but she hadn't argued after that.

"It's not fair," Kuririn's voice was low and harsh, coming from the back of his throat, almost like a growl.  "It's not fair.  He was just a baby — only five days old.  What would anyone in the Other World want with a five-day-old baby?" his chest hitched, and it was painful to take a breath.  "He was _my_ baby . . . I was gonna' take care of him, and love him, and train him . . . #18 and I were gonna' teach him to fight, so he could spar with us if he wanted to, and Marron was going to show him how to play and just be a kid . . ."

It was horrible, thinking of all the things they had planned for this wonderful boy, who had been such a miraculous life — and had been so cruelly taken away.

He sat up, looked at the gravestone.  On it were the words: _Kuri.  Beloved son of Kuririn and #18, brother to Marron. Godson of Son Goku and ChiChi.  _In smaller letters below read, _Five days old.  _

Kuririn glanced at the bottom of the stone, where above a small, carved image of the Dragonballs was a poem.  It was composed by Marron when they had taken Kuri home, and it had a way of tearing through the heart of whoever read it, with its heartfelt emotion and open, typically childlike honesty.  It made a catch come to Kuririn's throat every time he read it . . .

_Brother_

_You were tiny_

_You were small_

_You were cute and beautiful_

_Now you're gone_

_I miss you_

_I miss your little fingers_

_Your fuzzy hair _

_I wanted you to play with me_

_I wanted you to live_

_But you were so wonderful_

_Heaven wanted you back_

_So now you play in Heaven_

_With all the other babies _

_When you play_

_Do you think of me?_

_Because I think of you_

_I love you_

  


Kuririn placed his fingers at the roots of his hair, pulling as hard as he could, trying to make the pain from that take his mind away from the fact that his heart was falling to pieces right inside his chest . . .

Soft footfalls sounded from behind him, and a hand fell on his shoulder.  "Marron's crying in her room.  She says you don't love her anymore," #18's voice was quietly reproachful. 

"Tell her I'm sorry," Kuririn's reply was short and curt.  He didn't even look at her.  "I'm gonna' stay out here tonight, so you might as well go have supper without me."

#18 regarded him silently, a hundred different emotions flitting across her face like a flock of butterflies.  Finally, she nodded.  "Don't forget, you're not the only one who lost Kuri," she reminded him gently.  "Marron and I loved him, too.  And we _still_ love him, Kuririn," when this elicited no response from her husband, #18 tightened her fingers over his shoulder for the briefest of seconds.  "Don't stay up too late," with that, #18 turned and left.

Kuririn was almost glad to see her go.  Seeing her brought back those happy months before Kuri's birth . . . the joy — euphoria — he had experienced waiting for the day when his child would come into the world.  It was bad enough having to deal with Kuri's death without having #18 bring up fresh memories.  And speaking of which . . .

Too late, Kuririn closed his eyes and tried to block out the imagine that swam up before his eyes, tried not to hear the voices that filled his ears, tried not to remember all the emotions of one particular day . . .

_"Hey, squirt, it's your Daddy," Kuririn spoke slowly and clearly, his head resting on #18's stomach.  "How are you doing in there?"_

_"Kuririn, please!" #18 moaned in protest, "Some of us are trying to sleep, you maniac."_

_Kuririn glanced at his wife, then at their slumbering daughter, who had insisted upon sleeping with them lately in case the baby came.  He chuckled.  "Aww, hon, it's morning already.  Early morning, maybe, but still technically morning."_

_"It's far too early for me," #18 grumbled, playing with Marron's blonde pigtails.  "And thanks to your nonsensical rambling, I haven't managed to get much sleep."_

_"Are you kidding?" Kuririn snorted with affectionate derision.  "You snored almost all night!"_

_"I didn't snore."_

_Kuririn just laughed, and he tapped #18's stomach with one finger.  "Hey, kiddo, if you heard Mommy snoring, give a big kick," he instructed._

_Nothing happened and #18 was about to grin triumphantly when the baby suddenly gave a sharp kick.  "Hey!" she complained, though a smile managed to creep through the manufactured annoyance.  "You're supposed to be on my side!"_

_"Gotcha', babe," Kuririn punched her shoulder lightly.  "You heard Mommy snore, didn't you, baby?"_

_#18 shook her head in wonderment at his innocence.  "Kuririn, you don't honestly believe the baby can hear you, do you? It's pretty silly."_

_Her husband affected a wounded air, and he sniffed with mock-indignance.  "Of course I believe it!  The kid knows exactly who I am.  I did this with Marron, too, and what was her first word, huh?"_

_  
_

_"Papa," #18 admitted, her mouth twisting with wry amusement.  "Okay, so maybe you're right.  Don't let your ego overinflate — ow!" she glared at her midsection.  "Stop moving in there!  You aren't due for a while yet, so just settle down."_

_"Here, let me try," Kuririn put his hand on her stomach and moved it in a circular motion, pressing gently.  "Just go to sleep," he soothed, "Let Mommy rest," placing his head next to his hand, Kuririn began humming softly, crooning a quiet lullaby.  Sure enough, the unborn child settled down.  Kuririn smiled and went back to his side of the bed._

_"Thanks, Kuririn," #18 murmured sleepily, starting to doze off herself._

_Kuririn patted her shoulder.  "Any time.  Sweet dreams."_

_#18 nodded, and without realizing it she reached for his hand.  "You, too," a few minutes later, she was asleep._

_Kuririn squeezed her hand, then let go and put his hands behind his head, smiling broadly.  He was still grinning when he drifted off to sleep._  

Kuririn let out a wordless yell of frustration and pain, and his ki flared dramatically.  Jumping to his feet, Kuririn raised his face and hands to the sky and screamed, feeling the hurt transform into rage, and then again to raw, unadulterated power.  Forks of blue lightning shot from his body as bright, white flame surrounded him.  If he had been Saiyajin, Kuririn would have made the transition to Super right then and there.

The energy built up inside him until Kuririn thought he would explode, and to channel it, he cupped his hands to one side and focussed his energy there.  "_Ka . . .me . . . ha . . . me . . . HAAA!!!_"

The enormous blast shot straight out to the ocean, where it hit the water with enough force to cleave the mighty sea in half for a few seconds.  Kuririn continued to fire, surprised that the power kept coming, until he felt like he was made completely out of energy.  He stayed at that power level until three o'clock the next morning, where he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

This routine continued for two weeks, broken only by brief trips to the kitchen, where Kuririn would down a glass or two of water or tend to other bodily needs.  He refused to eat, no matter how much his family begged him, and rarely spoke to anyone.  Even little Marron had given up trying to talk to him, and she hid in another room whenever he came inside.

#18, after being snapped at during an unsuccessful attempt to entreat Kuririn to come inside, watched sadly as her husband trudged back outside.  His clothing was getting ragged and a scruffy beard covered the lower portion of his face, but somehow his unkempt appearance made him seem even more pitiable.  "What am I going to do with you?" #18 murmured softly, pressing her fingers against her forehead.  "This is so unlike you, Kuririn . . ."

She glanced at a photograph on the mantel.  She and Kuririn had been sparring on the beach when Kamesen'nin had appeared with a camera — in a flash, Kuririn had snatched #18 by the waist and set her on one of his shoulders. #18 had smacked him and scolded him for his temerity after the picture was taken, of course, but when the photograph was developed, it revealed her startled grin.

Normally looking at that photo made #18 smile, but not today.  Today she frowned, her forehead wrinkling with concern, and she ran her fingers lightly over the glossy paper.  Kuririn had always been so open with his feelings, and that quality had been one of the first things that had drawn #18 to him — he didn't try (or didn't see the necessity) to hide his emotions.  If he felt the need to cry, Kuririn always had.

But not this time. #18 sighed, wondering helplessly what she could do, since Kuririn had shut even her out — something he had never, ever done before.  Finally she looked over her shoulder at the kitchen, where the others were making a pretense of having a normal meal, and she walked in to join them.

"Marron-chan, I want you to stay with Uncle Rôshi for a while, okay?" #18 smiled, trying her hardest to be the cheerful, together parent that her daughter so desperately needed right now.

  


Marron's small face fell.  "Are you going to be away after bedtime?" she asked.

"Probably," in a comforting gesture, #18 bent down and kissed Marron's forehead.  Marron's face scrunched up in a half-pleased, half-embarrassed smile, an expression that she had inherited from her father.  "You can sleep in my bed again, if you want."

"Daddy's staying outside again?"

Try as she might, #18 couldn't keep the sadness and disappointment from her features.  "I think so."

Marron sighed gustily.  "Okay.  'Bye, Mommy.  I love you."

'You, too, Marron-chan," #18 patted her daughter's head.  "I'll be back later."

#18 paused for a moment as she passed by Kuririn.  He was engaged in a one-sided sparring match with the ocean again, and didn't even acknowledge her presence — though, in his present state, it was doubtful whether or not he was even aware of her. #18 considered whether or not to go to him, then decided against it.  Kuririn would ask for her if he wanted to.

Shaking her head, #18 took to the skies.  The wind whipped at her hair and clothing, but she ignored the annoyance and kept flying at the same velocity.  She didn't want to take more than an hour in her flight to Mt. Paozu.

Finally, #18 arrived at the Son house.  She found it slightly ironic that she was seeking advice from the man whom she had once sought to kill, but these were different times.  She knocked at the door, and there was a short pause before someone called, "I'm coming!"

Videl answered the door, and she jumped when she saw #18.  "O, hey," Gohan's girlfriend smiled.  "Are you looking for ChiChi?"

"Not this time," #18 replied, feeling rather uncomfortable.  "Is Son Goku in?"

"Nah, he and Mom went out to dinner tonight," Gohan came up behind Videl and slung an arm over her shoulders, his boyish face lit up in a friendly grin.  When he saw #18's expression, however, the smile faded.  "Hey, what's the matter?  You wanna' come in?"

#18 hesitated, then nodded.  Gohan moved aside to let her pass, and #18 followed him to the living room, silently grateful that Gohan was still as observant and sensitive as he had been as an eleven-year-old.

Goten and Trunks were playing, but when they saw the look on Gohan's face, they quickly vacated the room, after tossing out a quick, simultaneous, "Hi, #18-san!  'Bye, #18-san!"

#18 sat on the couch, Gohan and Videl on either side of her, forming a protective wall.  She was quiet for a minute, neither teenager pressing her to speak, and finally #18 drew in a deep breath. "I'm worried about Kuririn," she began, and related to them the events that had started with Kuri's death.  Gohan and Videl were respectfully silent through the entire story.

"... I know he doesn't mean to hurt us," #18 toyed with the sleeve of her jacket.  "But he is, all the same.  I don't know what else is left for me to do.  I've tried talking, but he won't acknowledge that I'm there . . . he won't come in the house, won't eat . . .   He's hurting both Marron and me, and I know he's tearing himself up inside.  I don't know how long Kuririn can keep up like this."

Gohan swallowed hard, trying to think, but was unable to come up with a comforting response.  "I'm sorry, but I don't know what to tell you.  It doesn't sound like Kuririn at all . . . he never hides his emotions like that.  He used to tell _me_ to cry, after Dad was killed in the Cell Games.  I don't understand what would make him change like that."

  


Videl spoke up for the first time, her voice quiet and pensive.  "Everyone has a breaking point, when he or she can't take anymore.  Maybe losing a child was too much pain for Kuririn to handle."

All three fell silent, pondering this, and again Videl was the one to break the silence.  "#18, you've told us about Kuririn, but . . . how are you holding up?"

#18 refused to meet anyone's gaze, and she flicked her eyes around the room apprehensively.  Aside from the actual day that Kuri had died, #18 had spent all her time and mental energy comforting Marron or worrying about Kuririn — she hadn't ever really considered how she felt herself.

"I - I don't know," she replied honestly.  "I suppose I haven't really dwelled on how I feel.  It doesn't seem important, since Kuririn and Marron are so distressed."

Videl reached out and grasped one of #18's hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze.  The gesture was so similar to what Kuririn used to do that it caused a lump to rise in #18's throat.  "Don't worry about them for a minute.  How do _you_ feel?"

#18 said nothing, instead concentrating on the pain she had pushed to the far corner of her mind.  She thought back two weeks, to the hospital ward.  She remembered the overly-clean, sterilized smell of the room that had stung her nostrils — the almost painful tidiness, the air of quiet efficiency.  She remembered the feeling that the doctors and nurses thought of Kuri as yet another statistic on a chart, not as #18 and Kuririn's son, as the sweet, innocent, and unique life that he had been.

#18 remembered holding Kuri in her arms for the first — and last — time, feeling Kuririn's hands trembling over hers.  Watching, completely helpless, as her five-day-old son released his final breath, his life escaping as he did so.  She remembered how cold Kuri's frail little body had been, no sign of warmth or chance for hope, and how there had been no change when he left them.  No indication of passage or transition — just the knowledge that he was gone forever.

#18 thought back to the months of expectancy, at how happy she and her family had been, and how closely linked they had felt.  Thought of how, now, they were being slowly torn apart . . . 

Unbidden, a tear made its way down #18's smooth cheek.  Then came another . . . and another . . . and another.  Within seconds, #18 began to cry freely, her shoulders shaking and her entire body trembling.  Videl gave her hand another squeeze, and without thinking Gohan rested a consoling arm around her shoulders.  In any other situation, #18 might have pulled away from the sympathetic teenagers, feeling embarrassed and perhaps even angered by their concern, but for now the mask of pride was gone — if only for the moment.

In broken sentences, #18 struggled to communicate her thoughts.  She had never been comfortable with expressing her feelings to anyone — save Kuririn, and even that trust had taken years to cultivate — and the process was awkward and stilted at first.  As she began speaking, however, #18 grew less self-conscious and her words became clearer, her speech more confident.  Gohan and Videl were good listeners, and they offered silent encouragement.

"... It's not just sadness because Kuri's gone, either," #18 admitted slowly.  "It's . . . something else.  I've always been aware of my . . . my inhumanity, and sometimes it bothers me," she glanced at Gohan, searching for any sign of contempt or scorn, but he merely smiled at her, urging her to continue.

"Having Marron was a way to prove to the world — and myself — that I'm still partially human; that I'm not just . . . just a . . ." #18 paused before adding, ". . . a machine without a directive anymore.  Marron was my connection to my humanism.  Kuri was going to be, too."

She stopped, then — it was too painful, too personal.  The clock on the wall across the room ticked loudly, filling the room with a reminder of how the silence was growing.  After the clock had marked off nearly two hundred clicks, #18 resumed her quiet, confused dialogue.

  


"It's like fate is laughing at me," #18 released her breath in a frustrated sigh.  "It's as though I was 'allowed' to marry someone as wonderful as Kuririn, and 'allowed' to have a beautiful daughter, just to get my hopes up — to make me forget what I am.  And just when I was comfortable with myself, my family, and my life . . . _wham_!  Poor Kuri has to die.  It makes me think that, somehow, it was my fault that Kuri didn't survive.  If I were fully human, maybe things would have turned out differently . . ."

Gohan interrupted, and though his voice was stern, there was a gentleness running underneath it that he had inherited from his father.  "No.  It wasn't your fault.  Don't ever think that!  I know it's not much of a comfort, but there was nothing you could have been or done that would have changed things.  I'm sorry if that's painful to hear."

#18 blinked to clear the last of the tears from her eyes, and she nodded almost obediently.  "I suppose I know that, but it's hard not to think along those lines."

Gohan tightened his arm on her shoulders for a second, then let go.  "I'm sorry I couldn't give you any advice on Kuririn."

"You listened," #18 smiled, something she had not done in weeks, except when dealing with Marron.  "Now that I think about it, that's the best thing you could have done for me."

"We can always listen.  We're never too busy," Videl smiled at her, then glanced over at Gohan.  "Hey, why don't you ask Goku to go talk to Kuririn tomorrow?  Maybe he'll be able to help."

Gohan shrugged.  "If Dad can't, I don't know who would," he raised a questioning eyebrow in #18's direction.  "Is that all right with you?"

"I think that would be a big help to all of us," #18's face was drawn, both from concern and exhaustion.  "Son Goku has known Kuririn longer than almost anyone."

"We'll be thinking about you," Videl promised softly, once they were all outside.  "I know it must be painful for you all."

The corners of #18's eyes tightened for the briefest of seconds.  "It is," she agreed, then levitated into the air.  Before she flew away, however, #18 stopped and glanced back over her shoulder at the pair, who stood watching her go.

"Thank you," #18 told them quietly, and the earnesty with which she spoke surprised her.  The other two nodded and lifted a hand in salute, and #18 smiled for the second time before leaving.

******

Dimly, through his haze of power, Kuririn became aware that someone was calling his name.  He blinked a few times and stopped firing at the ocean, glancing to his left.  Goku hovered in the air next to Kuririn, one arm around ChiChi's waist (she was clinging to his neck, looking only a little frightened).  "Hey, buddy, can I talk to you?"

Kuririn didn't particularly feel like engaging in friendly conversation, but he didn't want to send Goku away, either.  After a moment of indecision, Kuririn shrugged indifferently.  "Yeah, whatever.  Sure."

They descended to the sand, and ChiChi let go of Goku's neck.  "I'll go talk to #18 and Marron," she smiled at Kuririn, then walked past the two friends and into the house.

Goku looked at Kuririn semi-uncomfortably, regarding his friend's grave, saddened countenance.  "Are you all right, Kuririn?" he inquired at last.

"Well, my five-day-old son died in my arms," Kuririn snapped, but it wasn't anger that caused him to sound so short.  "Aside from that, I guess everything's just perfect."

Goku winced.  "I'm sorry.  How's your family holding up?"

  


Something in Kuririn's expression softened.  "Marron cries a lot, and #18's pretty down, too.  I haven't seen them too often."

"Maybe you should talk to them," Goku suggested gently.  "You never know, it might help."

"If you're going to lecture me, too," a flash of betrayal lit Kuririn's eyes, before being swallowed by the pain and anger once more.  "I don't need this from you, Goku.  I've already got my teacher and my wife telling me how I should feel and how I should act — I don't need it from my best friend!"

Goku hesitated, then reached out a hand and rested it on Kuririn's shoulder.  "I know this is hard for you, but you can't just shut out your family.  They're hurting just as much as you are, and they need you."

Kuririn all but exploded then, energy level rising rapidly, his face a mixture of pain, rage, and the sense that he felt Goku was exactly like everyone else.  "They need me?  O sure, Goku, I know they're hurting.  If they hurt _half_ as much as I do, they're ready to die right now!  What does that prove?  Did it ever cross your mind that maybe _I_ need somebody?  I, I'm always the one who's there to make everyone feel better . . . I'm the one who has to be strong for everyone, because good ol' Kuririn can take anything life throws at him.  Did you ever think that for once _I_ might need someone to turn to?  I can't handle this, Goku . . . I'm not made of steel, you know!"

The Saiyajin's eyes reflected the hurt he saw in Kuririn's, and he searched his mind to come up with something that might give Kuririn even the tiniest sense of peace.  "They can help you, even if no one else can, since they are feeling the same pain.  Kuririn, I know what you're going through, but —"

"Do you?" Kuririn snapped, jerking out from under Goku's hand like it was the stinger of a venomous insect.  "Do you really?  Tell me, Goku, how many sons do you have?"

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Goku's stomach.  "Two."

Kuririn's lip curled as he bit out, "And how many of them have died?"

"Neither," Goku's reply was soft, for he knew there was nothing more he could do for his friend.

"Well, there you have it," Kuririn shook his head, slowly walking backwards as he did so.  "Thanks for all the help, Goku," he shot sarcastically, "I feel _so_ much better now," he spun abruptly on his heel, kicking up a small cloud of sand, and walked back to Kuri's grave.  He knelt in front of it, head bowed, and could have been a statue for all the life he exhibited.

Goku could only stand impotently and watch, and something akin to a small sob rose up in his throat.  He truly had no idea what he could say, and this knowledge somehow made Goku feel even more helpless than when he had been unable to defeat Vegeta all those years ago.

ChiChi's hands slid around Goku's shoulders, coming to clasp in front of his chest in a reassuring embrace.  Goku jumped, surprised he hadn't sensed her come up behind him.  "You tried, Goku, but Kuririn has to deal with this his own way.  We've never lost a child, so we can't help him."

"Yeah," Goku's face scrunched as he fought to keep his composure.  He put his arm around her waist, raising two fingers to his forehead.  "Let's go home," the air shimmered, and they disappeared.

Kuririn barely noticed them go.

******

Poor Kuririn . . . listen to Goku! He knows what he's talking about! But you can't really blame him -- I mean, he'd counted on the Dragonballs since Kuri had died, and now even that's gone... I feel awful for what I've done to this poor family! 

And there, everyone, was chapter three. Will Kuririn finally talk to his family before it falls apart completely, or will they remain separated for the rest of their lives? How long will #18 be able to handle watching her beloved husband tear himself to pieces like this? I'll try to have chapter 4 (the final one!) up tomorrow, but since it's Sunday, I can't give any promises.


	4. Renewal

Disclaimer: DB/Z/GT do not belong to me. ...Why do I bother to write these? It's not like someone is sitting at home in front of his/her computer screen right now going "Whoa! She DOESN'T? Could've fooled me!" 

A/N: Final chapter! Really short, yes, but it ended that way. I don't make things longer or shorter than they're meant to be, and this one only wanted to be 3 pages long. 

In this chapter, Kuririn does something that finally causes #18 to snap. What is it? What does #18 do? Will Leia ever end her endless stream of author's notes? Read and find out! 

Chapter Four: Renewal   


"Mommy, is Daddy still sad?" Marron sniffed, curled up in her mother's lap. #18 sat stroking her hair, holding the little girl close as she cried out of sympathy for her Daddy.  "He chased Uncle Goku away."

"I know," #18 shook her head as she rocked Marron.  "Daddy's not himself right now, that's all.  He didn't mean to hurt Uncle Goku's feelings."

Marron looked up, her face bright with a sudden hope.  "You think if I go play with Daddy, he'll feel a little better?"

#18 felt a sudden upsurge of love for her daughter as she gazed into those shining black eyes.  "Guess there's only one way to find out, isn't there, Marron-chan?"

Marron scrambled off #18's lap, and she ran across the room to find her round, blue ball, long abandoned, and she picked it up.  "I'll be back, Mommy."

#18 smiled, and she watched Marron skip outside.  _Please, Kuririn . . . please understand that she's trying to help you . . ._

"Daddy?"

Kuririn glanced over at Marron, who stood next to him, holding her ball.  "Daddy, will you play with me?"

Incredulity washed over him, and Kuririn's eyes popped.  "Your little brother is dead, and you want to _play_?  Marron, don't you _care_?"

"But Mommy says you can't be sad forever," Marron protested, clutching the ball tightly.  "I thought if you played with me —"

Kuririn waved her off.  "Thanks, Marron, but I don't want to play.  Ask Mommy."

"I wanna' play with _you_," Marron's lower lip trembled.

"No, Marron!" Kuririn finally scowled, and he lifted his hand in a 'go away' gesture — but he wasn't looking, and therefore, miscalculated.  Instead of his hand waving harmlessly in the air, Kuririn swung too far and caught Marron's cheek with an unintentionally-vicious backhand.

As soon as he realized what happened, Kuririn's head snapped around.  Marron had fallen on her rear and was holding her cheek, her large eyes filling with tears.  "You . . . hit me," the little girl sounded utterly surprised and betrayed.

Shock and horror at what he'd done — even by accident — cut through his ravaged emotions to stab him with pain anew.  "Marron, are you all right?" Kuririn gasped, "I didn't mean to.  I'm so sorry!"

Her eyes glistening like soap bubbles, Marron ran inside.

A sudden sense of foreboding filled him, and without thinking or knowing why, Kuririn began counting to ten.  He barely got to four before the door slammed and an enraged #18 came storming outside, face twisted with fury.  "Kuririn, I know you're upset, but what makes you think that gives you the excuse to hit your three-year-old?" she yelled.

"I didn't mean to," Kuririn tried to explain what happened, but #18 cut him off.

"I don't care what happened!" #18's fists were clenched tightly at her sides, shaking violently with the force of her anger.  "You shouldn't have had your hands anywhere near her!"

  


The sorrow and heartache Kuririn was feeling on account of Kuri's death was quickly being replaced with astonishment, and not a little fear.  He had never seen #18 this mad before — at least, not at him, and the result was frightening.  In her ice-blue eyes was no hint of the love and care that was normally present there; only rage existed in those cool, blue orbs.

"You've been upset these last two weeks, and I certainly sympathize with that," #18 continued, face flushed.  "But you've gone too far by hitting someone who can't fight back.  Even by accident, that's unacceptable," #18's eyes flashed dangerously, and she raised a hand.  "You need a way to channel your emotions, so fine!  I'll give you one.  You want a fight, you've got it."

Without further warning, #18 lashed out and caught Kuririn with a hard backhand to the face, identical to the one he had given Marron, only directed with such force that it sent him crashing into the wall of the house.  "Get up!" she snapped, and Kuririn staggered to his feet.  "I've seen you beating up the ocean every day, and it never fights back, so I'm giving you a chance to battle someone who will."

Kuririn shook his head, but this caused #18 to kick him in the chest, knocking him down.  "Fight me!" #18 commanded, grabbing Kuririn by the hair and throwing him into the air.  Without thinking, Kuririn raised his ki to hover there. "You have barely talked to me since Kuri died, but now I'm not giving you the choice!"

Flying into the air after him, #18 began raining down blow after blow with such intensity that Kuririn had to block or be seriously injured.  For a brief second, Kuririn entertained the notion that somehow #18's old programming had taken over, but that ludicrous thought was immediately discarded when he looked into her eyes.

There was no malice, only two weeks' worth of suppressed hurt and sadness.  But Kuririn didn't have much time to dwell on this, for #18's attacks were becoming more violent by the minute.  "You ignored your daughter" — punch, kick — "You've ignored your friends" — punch, punch — "And you've ignored me.  _Tell_ me, Kuririn" — this was accompanied by a kick to the head that Kuririn just barely dodged — "What have you got to show for it?  Is Kuri alive?  No! Do you feel any better?  I'm guessing no.  Has shutting us out done _anything_ but bring pain to you and everyone you know?  _No_!"

#18's blows grew less planned and more wild, as though she was letting her emotions take over instead of concentrating on her assault.  "You can't keep doing this!  Have you forgotten about Marron?  We may have lost a son, but we still have a daughter.  She needs a father right now, not a hostile stranger who won't talk to her!"

As #18 spoke, her voice seemed to morph into that of Goku's, and again Kuririn felt the same anger that had overtaken him during that other conversation.  All at once, something inside Kuririn snapped, and he stopped blocking and went on the offensive.  "_Stop telling me what to do_!" he shouted, kicking her in the stomach.  "You aren't me — how do you know how I'm feeling?  I can't handle trying to comfort people right now; I just need to be alone.  Why can't you understand that I can't deal with my grief and take care of my family at the same time?"

Marron stood with Kamesen'nin on the porch, watching the battle fearfully, keeping one hand over her newly-bruised cheek.  At first glance, the battle seemed like any of the daily sparring matches her parents used to have, but it was obvious that they weren't play-fighting, now.  Even during their worst practice fights, Mommy had never made Daddy bleed like that.  They were yelling, too, and they _never_ yelled at each other.  "I've never seen Mommy and Daddy fight before," Marron observed in a small voice.

"Not like this," Kamesen'nin agreed, his voice bleak.  He took Marron's hand, leading her back inside the house.  "—'mon, Marron, you shouldn't watch this."

"Everyone's been telling me that I have to be strong for you and Marron, but I can't anymore!" Kuririn yelled, launching a volley of kicks.  "I can't just put my feelings aside and pretend I don't have any.  I'm sorry, but I'm not like that.  And I _used_ to think you understood me.  I guess not!"

"Kuri meant just as much to me as he did to you," #18 reminded him while kicking him in the side, ADid you ever consider that?  Do you know what it was like, to carry him inside me for six whole months?  I felt it every time he moved, every time he kicked — everything he did, it was like an extension of myself.  Having a person living inside me was wonderful — and with him gone, that part of me is gone, too.  Don't tell _me_ I don't understand you!"

  


#18 startled him by directing a hard punch to Kuririn's face, causing blood to begin flowing from the spot where his nose should have been.  "Does that hurt?" she demanded, sending a bone-jarring kick to his ribs. "Does that?"

Kuririn coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood.  "Of course it does!"

"Which hurts more?"  This?" — she kneed him in the stomach — "Or what you're feeling inside?"

Caught off-guard, Kuririn snapped, "Inside, obviously!  If you're trying to hurt me physically more than I am emotionally, you might as well give up now, because you'll have to kill me first."

"Then _cry_!" #18 commanded, hitting him again — harder this time, if that were possible.  "Don't you see, that's what your problem is!  You have all this pain and emotional torment building up inside you, and you haven't cried or done anything to get rid of it!"

Kuririn shook his head.  "I can't!  You just don't get it, #18."

"No, _you_ don't get it!" #18's face twitched, then something happened and she began to cry  — hot, angry tears that poured down her face like rain during a thunderstorm.  "Kuririn!  Blast it, I _love_ you!  When I have to sit there and watch you tear yourself up emotionally, it kills me, too.  You may not understand it, but the more you kill yourself, the more you torment me!"

Kuririn stopped dead as #18 continued her tirade, tears still streaming down her cheeks.  "Please come back to us, Kuririn.  Marron needs you — all right, _I_ need you.  And I think you need us, too," she backed off, not attacking, not screaming, just pleading.  "I hate seeing you like this.  I want to be able to help you, but you have to _let_ me," a choked-off sob rose in her throat, making her words all but unintelligible.  "Why have you shut me out? _Why_?  Don't you know how much that _hurts_?"

Kuririn shook his head in bewilderment, trying to make some sense out of the rapid shift in #18's emotions.  He had seen her cry before, but never with such hopelessness or intensity.  Finally, Kuririn managed to speak, but could only say one thing.  "I'm sorry . . ." 

#18's eyes widened as she hovered, chest heaving, exhausted from the fight, from yelling, from crying . . . surprise filled her when she looked at Kuririn's eyes.  In his expression, she knew her words had reached him, at last.

"I'm so sorry — I couldn't — I didn't know how to deal, I couldn't handle —" Kuririn's voice caught in his throat, and he wiped some of the blood that was dripping into his eyes, making them sting.  "It just hurt so _bad_, and I didn't know how to make it go away — I'm so _sorry_ —"

Suddenly, a miraculous thing happened; Kuririn began to cry.  Not just any bout of tears — the kind of crying that starts at the very depths of the soul and comes up through every part of the body and mind.  Harsh, wracking sobs filled him, and Kuririn buried his face in his hands, his entire body convulsing as he cried harder than he ever had before.

#18 felt a wave of relief wash over her, and she closed her eyes, silently releasing her thanks.  She covered the few feet that separated them, put a hand on his back.  Kuririn shuddered at the touch, and #18 wrapped her arms around him and pulled him to her.  It wasn't long before Kuririn flung his arms around her waist, burying his face in her shirt, sobbing hysterically.

"It just hurt so much," Kuririn's voice shook violently.  "I couldn't be strong for you guys, I couldn't be strong for myself . . . I didn't know what to do, and I hated myself for how I was being, but I couldn't _help_ it.  I'm so sorry!"

"It's all right," #18 whispered.  Her tears dripped off her chin, landing on Kuririn's face to mingle with his own.  "It's going to be all right."

Kuririn nodded, and for the first time since the car accident, he knew she was right.

  


The two figures hovered in the air, intertwined in one another's arms, holding each other and crying.  But it was not the hopeless sobs of lonely, isolated parents — at last, they were the cries of two people who had finally allowed the other to help.  

At long last, two broken hearts melded to become one.

******

Well, there you have it. When I was writing this, I didn't know how to end it -- so I asked the characters. Literally. I closed my eyes, put them in the scene, and let them act it out, then wrote it down -- and here's what happened. I figured an explosive confrontation like that would be the most accurate way to get their feelings in the open. Do you agree? Disagree? Neither, or both? 

So, there you have it. I liked this story, despite its depressing premise, and it was healthy for me to get it out. It's, in my opinion, anyway, one of my most 'realistic' DB fanfics. I hope I was able to portray the characters, emotions, and the situation accurately.   
  



End file.
